


Empty

by miscnine



Series: Nine's Drarry Contributions [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry's deteriorating will to live, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24623221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscnine/pseuds/miscnine
Summary: Malfoy was Harry's only decision.[This was brought on by listening to No Vacancy by OneRepublic. 'Used to be that I felt so damn empty / Ever since I met you, No Vacancy.']Edited 12/30/2020
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Nine's Drarry Contributions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1842685
Kudos: 12





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**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the tags!

Harry felt the audience stare at him momentarily--for his name--then look away for the game. It was too early in the match for that Key Moment: the seekers performed infamous maneuvers to out-fly each other and steal the audience’s attention, and people looked to him with anticipatory smiles.

As of the moment, he was flying around all the other players in a loose circle. Like he was dancing a different dance. Definitely because everyone _was playing a game_ and _not dancing;_ however, he didn’t think that analogy made him any weirder than he already was.

Up in the air, he felt lucky that it was easier to pretend people were cheering because he was doing something he loved doing and not because they were expectant (as they seemed to perpetually be).

Harry ducked and spun around to avoid all the dangers a game of Quidditch entails, noticing Malfoy as he passed a wave of shouting, whooping _red_ on the stands. There was that typical upward quirk on a corner of thin, pink lips that you couldn’t quite call a sneer nor a smirk with _how soft_ the expression looked coupled with those eyes worn only in moments like these. Right now, Malfoy had no need to drape that _I’m-untouchable_ curtain over his eyes that Harry had seen him utilize and weaponize; Malfoy’s eyes were darting around for the snitch in absolute, competitive _glee_. 

Harry thought he was pretty damn special. He and Malfoy were _the only two_ who could reach this altitude and maintain this speed. He was _the only one_ who could see that look on Malfoy’s face completely and clearly.

As he climbed to the level where the wind filled his ears and muddled his thoughts for him, he also thought he saw something glinting off to the side, but it was just Malfoy’s ridiculously intact, platinum hair waving in the air as the rival seeker flew off.

What an honor it would be to reverently pull apart each strand with tender strokes until it reached the level of bedlam that his brain was. Can you imagine? Harry can, in painstaking detail. Like Malfoy does in every other aspect of life, he demanded and pushed his way into Harry’s head, and then suddenly, Harry’s cheeks and ears burned like neon lights screaming ‘No Vacancy.’ And it was just like that. Every time. (Infuriating git, Malfoy was. Never giving him a moment’s rest.)

Just as Harry thought of how unfair it was that Malfoy and a snitch shared several similarities, the Key Moment arrived. It passed him quickly, like all victories do.

It dawned to him later--after his team had won and celebrated, and the adrenaline dulled as he sat under the warmth of the setting sun in his room in fresh clothes--that Malfoy smiled at him. (Well--smiled _then_ looked at him with a half-hearted glare.) In that single second before he clutched the thing that would make a number of people start screaming with joy, Malfoy was smiling. Little thing, it was, but he couldn’t stop ruminating about it.

_It wasn’t even to my face_ , Harry thought _._

Harry sat on his bed, smile on his face. _But it was as if I was allowed to see it. Only me,_ he let himself think.

Malfoy couldn’t hide it from him. That was the thing. _(That was the over-thought thing.)_ Was he still special? Good Godric. He _felt_ like it.

Harry laid on his back, and decidedly stayed that way throughout the night.

The moon didn’t seem bothered that Harry had recently adopted a habit of leaving another light by his side. Lately, he’d slept less and thought more. Regardless of what he chose to do between the two, he’d long since established with great resolve that he wouldn’t willingly spend another night thawing in a small, dark room.

The others he shared the dorm with had fallen silent an hour ago, lulled to sleep by an exhaustion only brought on by a match involving their house’s team. Without wind, chatter, or anything filling his ears, he was thinking of Malfoy--his only choice.

Harry didn’t bother to think through other things anymore. Not the ones related to Voldemort. He knew he was cattle and expendable no matter how much gold was mixed into the meals that fattened him or its liquid form laced into the drinks that were meant to burn--waiting sacrifice that he was. He didn’t want to think about the people he had to save. He didn’t think to plan anything because people pulled him to the directions he had to go anyway. He just waited. People would go to him, call him Harry Potter, and insist he was their savior. They spoke like they thought he wasn’t human. _Immortal and powerful like a god_ , they probably intended. Harry didn’t feel invincible. He didn’t feel human.

‘Malfoy was his only decision’--was the more accurate thing to say, then.

Harry could pretend: that Malfoy was just Draco; that Draco didn’t think he was being kept to be used to save people; that he and Draco were rivals, which meant they were equals to begin with. He could pull it off even when Malfoy didn’t intend for his words to string the supposed golden--yet thoroughly debauched and desperate--boy along and cared only to push the right buttons and get a reaction.

No words, looks, or infinitesimal _scraps_ Harry felt Malfoy throwing him were meant to entice him, but this was his only decision. He could think about Malfoy and all his barbs and lines--words, actions, and appearance-wise. This vague feeling was the only thing that felt right. He would hurt for it.


End file.
